


Price of Love 1&2

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M, Series: Price of Love series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair agrees to move in with Jim,but his secret threatens their new partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Price of Love 1&2

## Price of Love 1&2

by Texas Ranger

* * *

Blair stuffed the last of his clean clothes into a garbage bag and took a look around the room. Jim had been more than generous in letting him crash here after his apartment had been trashed by the explosion of the neighboring drug lab. In the past week, Blair had become attached to the loft and to the big, brooding man who owned it. He would've liked to stay longer, but he didn't want to wear out his welcome, which was treading on thin ice with Jim, anyway. Plus, given Blair's lifestyle, it wasn't a good idea to get too intimate with a cop.

Besides, it wasn't like this was a novelty in Blair's life. Moving from place to place, never staying anywhere long enough to form real attachments, had been Blair's MO since childhood, part and parcel of life with Naomi. He'd long since lost count of the places he'd been and left, and this would be no different. Still, Blair felt an uncharacteristic yearning at the thought of sharing a home with Jim.

Lost in his thoughts and the act of packing, Blair didn't notice Jim until the cop cleared his throat. Blair turned toward the door. "Oh, hey, Jim. I'm almost done packing, and you'll notice," he said with a flourish, "it's as clean as when I moved in."

Jim nodded. "So, you've found another place? I mean, I don't want to kick you out on the street, you know."

"Oh, yeah," Blair replied. "I found a place on Third and Central, close to shopping and on the bus line in case my car breaks down. No problem."

Jim cleared his throat again, uncomfortable. "That's not a very safe neighborhood, you know. High crime. Gang territory."

"It's not so bad, Jim," Blair replied. "I'll have a deadbolt installed as soon as I move in." 

Jim was silent for a moment. Something seemed to be on his mind, but Blair waited patiently, not wanting to pry.

Finally, Jim said, "It's not very close to campus, is it? You'd spend a lot of time commuting."

"Only about 15 minutes either way. Really, man, I'll be okay."

"I was thinking," Jim said casually, "this room is standing empty, anyway. I don't use it for anything, and with our Sentinel project and all," he shrugged, "it might be more convenient if you stayed here." Jim paused uncomfortably. "If you want."

Blair was touched and flattered by the Sentinel's awkward but heartfelt offer. The temptation to accept was overwhelming, but Blair knew well enough the reasons he couldn't accept. "That's nice, Jim," he said appreciatively, "but I really can't. I keep weird hours, I'm messy." He laughed. "The noise alone would drive you up a tree."

Jim pretended interest in something over Blair's shoulder. "It doesn't really bother me that much. In fact, I've...well, I've kinda gotten used to having you around. It's pretty damn quiet when you're not here."

Blair stared at him thoughtfully. Jim never came right out and said what he felt; it just wasn't his way, but Blair had gotten good at reading the big man, and he thought he knew what was going on here. Jim was trying to say that he was lonely.

Blair heard what the big man would never say, and his resolve disappeared. He had felt a powerful attraction to Jim from the moment they'd first met, and the opportunity to share his life, to get closer, was irresistible. He disregarded the warnings his mind was trying to send him, and accepted.

"If you really wouldn't mind," Blair said. "I mean, I like it here, and it beats the hell out of gang territory, right?"

Jim suddenly favored Blair with a rare smile. The expression lit up his face, transforming it from merely good-looking to utterly gorgeous. "Good!" he said, then caught himself. "But if you leave your wet towels in the tub again, I'm kicking your slovenly ass out the nearest window."

Blair executed a sloppy salute. "Noted and logged."

Jim looked into his friend's eyes for a long moment. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. "Fine, then. Unpack. Dinner's almost ready." He turned and walked out the door.

Blair stood and watched him go, heart pounding. Just for a moment, he'd seen something in Jim's eyes, something more than friendship, and then it had disappeared, hidden behind Jim's practiced aloofness. Could Jim really be interested in him sexually, or was he seeing what he wanted to see?

*What the hell was I thinking?* Blair wondered *I can't live with Jim! It means lying to him about my life, and that's shitty. I'll tell him I can't stay.*

Blair found Jim in the kitchen, tossing a salad. "Hey, Jim?" 

Jim looked up. "What?"

Blair was about to manufacture a polite excuse for turning down the room, when he was struck by the strangest feeling. As he watched Jim put the salad on the table and lay out the plates, Blair had a vision of a lifetime of similar scenes, of cooking dinner together, sharing domestic tasks, cold nights in front of a warm fireplace. A real home, an end to loneliness for both of them. His resolve failed.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Blair said quietly.

Jim smiled. "You're welcome, Chief."

As they sat down to dinner, Blair told himself he'd have to be more discreet than ever about certain parts of his personal life. 

* * *

Anotherdate, Chief?" Jim asked as Blair walked out of his room dressed in a suit and tie".

"Damn, she must be a real class act for you to be all dressed up like that." 

Blair grinned. "She's taking me to Chez Louis, so I thought I should dress the part." 

Jim whistled. "Chez Louis? Hope she's a Rockefeller." He started to fiddle with the remote, studiously notfo looking at Blair. "Must be getting pretty serious for her to blow coin like that, huh?" 

"Not really." Blair shrugged. "Look, I told her I'd be there at 8, so I'll see you when I get home, okay?" 

Jim raised a hand in farewell, and Blair was gone. He'd slipped by Jim for the third time this week, and he was sure his new roommate had no clue. So, why did he feel like a complete shitheel? 

He arrived at the restaurant early, a rarity for him, and ordered an Amaretto Sour while he waited. More than anything, Blair wished it were Jim walking through the door, searching the room, and smiling when he saw Blair. 

Mark kissed Blair and sat down next to him. "Hi. Been waiting long?" 

"Nope. Just got here." Blair motioned to the waiter. "A dry martini for my friend, please." 

Mark brought two hundred dollar bills out of his wallet and slipped them into Blair's pocket discreetly. "Up front, just like you like it." 

Blair smiled affectionately. "I trust you, Mark. That policy is mostly for referrals. So," he picked up the older man's hand under the table,"what's on the menu tonight?" 

Mark squeezed, playing along with the verbal fiveplay. "For dinner? How about the lobster thermador?" 

"I like it so far." 

"For dessert? How about back to my place and see what we're hungry for?" Mark's foot found Blair's under the table and began to rub gently. 

"Sounds good, but I'll warn you," Blair trapped the questing foot between his thighs,"I have a very big appetite tonight." He lowered his eyes seductively and increased the pressure on Mark's foot. 

"Good." Mark said. "Marcie is out of town for the weekend visiting my mother-out-law, so we have the place to ourselves." 

"And you didn't go with her?" Blair teased. He knew how Mark felt about Marcie's mother, who he referred to as The Gorgon. 

Mark shuddered. "Are you kidding? The woman hates me more and more as the years go by. I get hypothermia just walking by her house. But enough about Medusa. How are your classes this semester?" 

They chatted personably throughout dinner, talking about Blair's research and Mark's neurosurgery practice until the specialist paid the check and escorted Blair to his Maserati. Blair normally insisted on taking his own car to his appointments in case things got rough, but Mark was one of Blair's favorite "dates", and he trusted the doctor completely. 

Mark was one of the first clients Blair had ever had, and their relationship was intimate and easy. Forty-seven years old, tall, silver haired, and married to money, he could have been a character on any soap opera, except Mark actually had a personality. He was prominent in the community, not just for his name or medical practice, but also for his work on behalf of childrens' charities. He was one of the good guys and Blair liked him immensely. He tipped well, but more than that, he was a wonderful conversationalist and showed an honest interest in Blair. They usually spent a good half or more of the evening talking, which was more than Blair could say for most of his other clients, who often had no interest in what Blair had to say out of bed. 

Mark pulled up to his building, shut off the engine, and climbed out. Blair stayed put, knowing Mark always opened his door. Mark escorted him to the door, where the doorman gave a quiet,"Good evening, Dr. Bellingham." 

"Hi, Steve," Mark replied. He put an arm around Blair and guided him through the door. "By the way," he called over his shoulder, "if Marcie should ask, I came home with a blonde D-cup I picked up at the Cat's Meow, okay?" 

Blair laughed. It was an old joke. When Marcie had walked in on her husband and the grad student last year, she had nodded cordially and said, "Pleased to meet you, young man. Oh, Mark, for God sake, couldn't it have at least been a woman?" Then, she had turned on her heel with well-bred dignity and gone to make them all drinks. Marcie was okay, if a bit upper-crust for Blair's taste. 

Mark led Blair through the elegant lobby with its crystal chandelier and plush flocked wallpaper, and into the elevator. Mark slipped in his key, and they rode to the spacious penthouse hand in hand. "Have a seat, Blair," Mark gestured toward the ornate living room. "I'll get us a beer and make a fire." 

Blair wandered around, examining the paintings, many of them originals. He stopped in front of an unfamiliar one. "Hey, Mark?" he called. "Is this a Picasso?" 

Mark came in and handed Blair a beer. "Yeah," he sighed. "Marcie's taste, not mine. I just don't see the beauty in a woman with her nose on the side of her face and her boobs off-center." He grinned. "And I'm referring to the painting, not to Marcie." 

They talked art and culture for an hour in front of the fire before Blair leaned over and planted a kiss on Mark's ear. "How about it?" 

Mark stood and offered his hand. "Don't mind if I do." 

The next morning, as he dropped Blair off at his car, Mark handed him another fifty dollars. 

"Hey, Mark, you're getting senile in your old age, man," Blair said. "You paid me last night." 

"I know, but this is for Christmas," Mark replied. 

"That's not necessary, Mark," Blair told him, embarassed. "You treat me well, you take me to nice places, you take the time to talk with me. That's enough." 

"Do you have a winter coat?" Mark asked quietly. "Do you have university bills to pay? Enough spending money for the weekend? Take it, Blair. I'm not exactly hurting." 

Blair nodded and accepted the money. "Thank you, Mark. I could use it." 

Mark smiled. "You work hard for it, Blair. I just wish I could convince you to quit." He sighed. "But I guess that's a little hippocritical of me, huh? Look, take care of yourself, Blair." 

"Always," the anthropologist replied. He climbed into his old car and drove home.*Home* he thought, letting himself in the loft. *Yeah, this is home. Here with Jim.* 

The Sentinel was in the kitchen cooking breakfast when he heard Blair come in. "You didn't come home last night." 

Blair manufactured a smile. "Yeah, well, she wouldn't let me go, you know." Jim didn't reply."Hey, Jim, what's wrong?" Blair asked, puzzled at the coldness he felt from his partner. 

Jim brought two plates of eggs and muffins to the table and set one in front of Blair without a word. 

"Are you pissed that I stayed out?" Blair asked, fishing. 

"Yeah, you could say that. I-" Caught offguard, Jim paused. "Forget it, Sandburg. I'm not your mother. Eat your eggs." 

"Well, my mother never said 'eat your eggs', that's for sure," Blair joked. "She doesn't eat them, believes it's cruelty to the chickens." 

Jim's lips twitched, then he laughed. 

Everything was fine between them again, for now. 

End 


End file.
